Show of hands, dear readers. Who among you have never said these words at least once in your colorful lifetimes? Anyone? Anyone? (Bueller?). Hmm. I thought as much.
Today, the Baroness will begin to outline her plan for global domination, one nit-picky step at a time. Before I begin, you may notice an absence of the big-ticket items – hunger, disease, freedom, peace – missing from my list. Rest assured that these would be the Baroness’ first order of business. The following partial list is just the glowing-red-shiny-organically-dyed cherry on top. Without further ado, here goes:
When I rule the world (in no particular order, because –hey, it’s my world):
1. Vacuum-packed coffee bags will have some sort of nifty opening device. Maybe voice-activated. (i.e. COFFEE, dammit!)
Because when the Baroness is craving her first cup of the day, she so does not want to be wrestling open a seal originally patented for underwater rescue vessels. I have the hand strength of a newborn and yes, as a matter of fact, I am afraid to use it.
While I admire what I imagine to be cost-saving decisions that trickle down to moi the consumer, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that when I’m looking for a chicken marinade, I can find one that wasn’t first introduced during the “Best of Bridge” decade. Frankly, I have no idea how long that brand has been around, frankly I don’t care and frankly again, this facility is beginning to remind me of some quaint small town general store. In Slavic back country. (Free bonus at point of purchase: a mustard poultice!) Step it up, already.
3. Meetings will be timely, efficient, well-run and productive.
Poor, passé Robert. When you first wrote your rules, I bet that everyone was chomping at the bit to follow along. Now, sadly, you’re a dinosaur. Practically Pliocene. I do think of you, really I do, as I watch that 2 ½ hours of my life do a smug little “see ya later – not” dance and merrily skip out the door. As for you jerks who always swan in late and remind us of how busy your lives are, TFB. The meeting’s already started. Yes, without you. Gasp.
4. A global sense of humor will prevail, and clever jokes will never need to be explained.
Have you ever tried to explain a joke? Not only are you trying in vain to educate the village idiot, you’re giving him a front row seat to watch any humor whatsoever begin to hemorrhage out of said joke until it is a withered, desiccated shell of frivolity. R.I.P., funny.
A dead giveaway that this will be the anathema of child enjoyment. A discovery we we will make only after, of course, we’ve partaken of its allure. And that would be the non-refundable type of partaking, suckahs.
Blick. Ack. Cough cough. Ahem. There now, that’s better. The Baroness has successfully rid herself of yet another set of annoyances stuck in her craw. What about you? What irksomeness would you change if YOU ruled the world? Share with the class. Only good can come of it. Think of your craw.
